


i never gave a damn about the weather, and it never gave a damn about me

by uaevuon



Series: Legends Never Die (the omegaverse geass AU) [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, Immortality, LLYBB, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Possessive Behavior, Scent Kink, Sci-Fi Elements, figure skating, magical contract a la code geass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-07-16 11:59:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16085663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uaevuon/pseuds/uaevuon
Summary: They almost argued over the last few nights. Viktor wanted to show himself off as Yuuri’s boyfriend (at the mention of which Yuuri promptly made a high-pitched screeching noise much like the whine of a tea kettle) and suggested he would look the most like preening, omega eye candy in a ball gown, but lamented that he didn’t have one amongst his limited but no less stunning wardrobe, mainly because he wouldn’t be able to fit a petticoat in any of his three trunks. But an evening gown would do, surely, if it was sparkly and well-fitted and paired with opera gloves.





	i never gave a damn about the weather, and it never gave a damn about me

**Author's Note:**

> cw for unexpected heat, mention of vomiting, consent discussion
> 
> this work is part of a series, and will not make any sense without having read the previous parts.

That summer was easily the best and most grueling of Yuuri’s life. 

Viktor pushed him harder than he’d ever been pushed before, training nearly every day. He’d say _perfect!_ one moment and in the next realize that no, perfect wasn’t good enough, _do it again, Yuuri._ He unlocked the next level of Yuuri’s stamina, saying he couldn’t leave the ice until he was laying facedown on it, and in the end Viktor got tired out before Yuuri did. 

Yuuri’s short program was easily the more difficult of the two. All of the jumps were crammed into the second half to maximize point value, and the step sequences kept Yuuri constantly in motion, twisting, turning, dancing across the ice. His new free program, as yet unnamed, was more evenly spread out, and there were several lulls in the music that Yuuri accompanied with slow, sweeping movements; contemplative and beautiful. 

He asked Viktor to teach him all the jumps he could do, hoping to add one or two more difficult quads in and raise the difficulty. Yuuri had the strength for it, could easily push off the ice hard enough to get four rotations in, but his landings rarely stuck, too inconsistent on the flip and Lutz to include either, and almost hopeless on the quad loop. Viktor tried to show Yuuri what he was doing wrong. He twisted his body too far, overcompensating for the difficulty of the jump; he leaned too far into the takeoff and made the angle of the landing too acute to get any friction between his blade and the ice. 

Thus, Yuuri was left with a free skate program that felt underwhelming, incomplete. Which was especially difficult to reconcile as Yuuri already felt underwhelming and incomplete. He knew he could do better, on some level; he had that potential. It just wasn’t coming together in a way that felt satisfying. A way that would even come close to Viktor’s records. 

Physically, _Eros_ was the more demanding of the two programs, but emotionally, Yuuri’s free program was what drained him, because he _knew_ he could be better, but he didn’t know what about him was the personal failing that got in the way, or what to do about it.

Yuuri didn’t get another day off until August. Technically, there were “rest days” once a week, but he didn’t really rest, just stuck to off-ice training, which was no less grueling but allowed his feet some time to heal before throwing himself back into bruises and blisters. This time, though, Viktor dragged Yuuri, nearly kicking and screaming, down to the beach and sat him down on a large piece of driftwood. 

“Yuuri, tell me; what’s on your mind when you skate?”

“Not screwing it up.” 

Viktor nodded slowly. He watched the waves crash against the shore. The skies were dark with storm clouds, and thunder rumbled, far off in the distance. It wasn’t a great time to be out in the elements, but Yuuri had always seemed to like thunderstorms. Viktor, as well, found rain perfect for contemplation and deep conversation. Like this one. 

“What do you think you _should_ be thinking about when you skate?” Viktor asked. 

Yuuri hunched forward, shame overtaking years of dance posture. “The themes I’m trying to show.” 

“Tell me about those themes, Yuuri.”

Yuuri told him about _Eros_ , about sexual love, about the story unfolding in his short program of a playboy and a seductress, their dance of tension and building desire, its consummation and then its conclusion, the alpha woman throwing away her traveling omega lover for the next drifter. He told Viktor of the free program, meant to embody the whole of Yuuri’s career as a skater so far, as well as all the love and support he had felt and received over the course of his life, all those who pushed him forward; and then the last third of the program, intended to look to the future, to imagine what might be. 

“What is it you want your future to look like, Yuuri? A gold medal? A world record? Or more than that?” 

Yuuri thought about it in silence, and then aloud. He wanted those things; victory, his name in lights. He wanted to make Viktor proud, make proud every person who had ever stood behind him and lifted him up. But his theme this season was to be _love_. There was more he wanted from life, more he wanted to show through his skating. He wanted to continue appreciating the love that he had given and taken. He wanted more. 

Silence, then; Yuuri didn’t elaborate on what _more_ he wanted. So Viktor pushed him. 

Yuuri looked at Viktor, then away, towards the water, the birds stirring as the felt the wind pick up. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do know,” Viktor said, quiet, trying not to startle Yuuri, who looked so focused in that moment. It was delicate, and Yuuri’s heart was too. “I think you know, but you’re afraid to want it. You’re afraid to ask for it, to chase it.”

Viktor waited for Yuuri to think about this, then Yuuri gave a small nod. 

“You don’t get what you want by just waiting for it, Yuuri.” He wrapped his hand around Yuuri’s, beside him on the log. “You have to reach out and grab it.”

Yuuri tensed, and Viktor worried he’d ruined the moment; but then, Yuuri turned toward him. Yuuri’s free hand came up around the back of Viktor’s neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. 

“Am I allowed to ask for this?” Yuuri said when they parted. Even though it was far from their first kiss, and Viktor had responded with an enthusiastic _yes!_ in the press of his lips and the pull of his hands and the insistence of his tongue every time Yuuri so much as gave him that slight questioning gaze and the upturn of his chin. 

“You don’t have to ask,” Viktor whispered, his lips brushing Yuuri’s. “It’s yours already.” 

_I’m yours already_ , went unspoken. 

They kissed again, and almost as soon as their lips parted, the sky opened up. In seconds, they were drenched; Viktor shouted, covering his hair, and Yuuri groaned, shivering at the cold droplets. Despite the heat of summer, the rain was freezing, like tiny daggers of ice on their sweaty skin. 

Running for cover, Yuuri started to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Viktor watched him, trying to keep up, before giving in and laughing as well. They darted under the awning of a shaved ice stand, closed with the weather that kept everyone away from the beach. 

Viktor whined at the state of his hair, recently deep-conditioned and blown dry in loose waves, now soaked and limp. 

“You really love your hair, don’t you?” Yuuri asked.

“Of course. It’s one of my best qualities.” Viktor gave it up as a lost cause and wrung out the soaked ends, grimacing at the river of water that splattered to the ground. Around them, the rain came down in sheets, looking for all the world like a typhoon. Thunder rumbled and lightning crackled overhead; Yuuri and Viktor entwined their wet fingers, watching the world turn gray and blurry. 

Within ten minutes, the rain let up, leveling out at a light drizzle. At the horizon, rays of sunlight peeked through the clouds. 

“Let’s go home,” Viktor said. 

\---

“How do I look?”

Yuuri looked up from his phone, where he was checking train schedules, weighing for the fifth time the hour long hyperrail ride against getting a hotel room in Kitakyushu for the night. The sight that greeted him was a much more pleasant one: Viktor was finally dressed. 

They almost argued over the last few nights. Viktor wanted to show himself off as Yuuri’s boyfriend (at the mention of which Yuuri promptly made a high-pitched screeching noise much like the whine of a tea kettle) and suggested he would look the most like preening, omega eye candy in a ball gown, but lamented that he didn’t have one amongst his limited but no less stunning wardrobe, mainly because he wouldn’t be able to fit a petticoat in any of his three trunks. But an evening gown would do, surely, if it was sparkly and well-fitted and paired with opera gloves. Yuuri insisted that while, yes, Viktor would look very pretty like that, he was Yuuri’s _coach_ and they were going to the regional competition, and so he needed to look professional, not like he was trying to show off to Yuuri and the rest of the universe what a good heat-mate he’d make. 

They’d eventually come to a compromise: Viktor would have to wear a suit, and yes he could wear his best suit if he so desired but it _had to be a suit._ Then, he could do his hair how he wanted. And apparently, what Viktor wanted was an elaborate Grecian twist that involved most of a spool of silver thread to sew the locks of hair securely to one another. Also, glitter. Somehow, the look worked. Viktor looked sleek, responsible, professional; all the things a coach should be. He also looked like the prettiest omega in the universe, and he was all Yuuri’s. 

Viktor wore his identification card on a lanyard around his neck, making sure it didn’t clash with his look of coachly omegan perfection. He was using his alias “Nicholas Wynne”, and Mari had made fun of him for picking a name that, like his real one, essentially meant “Winning McWinnerson”. Yuuri thought it was cute. Yuuri was biased. 

Yuuri may also have been biased at this moment; surely the sharp black suit with its chrome microthread pinstripes, and the tendrils of loosely-curled silver locks that spilled artfully in front of Viktor’s ear and over his forehead and cheek were not _really_ so attractive and enticing that Yuuri’s mouth should drop open and release a long and embarrassing trail of drool onto his costume’s pants, but that was exactly what happened. 

Yuuri clapped his hand over his mouth, making a horrible sucking sound to keep the rest of his saliva safely in his mouth where it should be. He rubbed the heel of his other hand over the spot of drool, hoping it wouldn’t leave an awkward shine on the velour. 

“I look good, right?” Viktor was giving Yuuri a playful look, one that said _were we not a mere half hour from leaving I would beg you to hold me down and kiss me until my lips go numb._

Yuuri felt the impulse to do just that. Screw the competition. 

He sighed and stood. Right, the competition. The Chugoku, Shikoku, and Kyushu regional qualifier. Damn. 

“We should get going soon,” Yuuri said. “Did you eat?” 

“Ah, I forgot.” Viktor curled a loose strand of hair around his finger. “I don’t suppose you have anything to fill me?”

“We should have some fruit in the kitchen,” Yuuri said, brushing past Viktor to leave his room. He heard Viktor sigh behind him. Yes, Yuuri had understood the flirting, the innuendo; no, he was not going to get carried away with fantasies of Viktor going down on him in that pristine suit and gorgeous, sparkling hair. There was even highlighter on his cheeks. And mascara! Yuuri was weak for an omega in mascara. Especially this omega. His omega? _My omega_. 

Yuuri almost tripped over himself at this thought.

Could he call Viktor his?

He peeked over at Viktor, who was biting into a juicy, red apple, his free hand upturned under his chin to protect his suit from any drips. Yuuri noticed then that Viktor was wearing not only his own credentials for the competition, but Yuuri’s as well. Clear as a collar. 

_Yeah. Mine._

They just barely made it to the train, as Yuuri couldn’t stop himself from sucking the taste of apple out of Viktor’s mouth, and they’d made out in the kitchen for a full fifteen minutes before Mari caught them, yelled at them, and made Yuuri clean the counter he had lifted Viktor onto before they left. 

It was worth it, even as Yuuri and Viktor ran through Hasetsu and burst onto the train just as the doors were closing. 

He’d been doing that a lot in the last few months; getting caught up in the taste of Viktor’s mouth. It was all Yuuri could to to focus on skating when he needed to. More than once they’d been caught by Yuuko or the triplets or, worst of all, Takeshi, kissing at the rink when Yuuri was supposed to be training. It was distracting, but equally so was it motivating. Ever since that rainy day at the beach in the summer, Yuuri hadn’t held back. He knew now that if he kissed Viktor, Viktor would kiss back. If he rubbed his wrist against Viktor’s neck, Viktor would wrap himself around Yuuri until their scents were inextricable. 

If he called out to Viktor with his skating, Viktor would always answer with a resounding _yes_. 

And so he did. Yuuri called out to Viktor with everything he had. He seduced Viktor during _Eros_ , his constructed alpha character enticing Viktor’s eyes with every step, twist, and stretch. He no longer felt afraid to dream at the end of his free program, now appropriately named _Yuri on Ice_ ; he dreamed as far as he could, of medals upon medals, records upon records, and Viktor in his arms, the two of them sealed together by mating bonds and a contract that terrified Yuuri as much as he didn’t want it to end. Through it all, Viktor reached out for his hand, and he smiled more and more with each passing day. 

Yuuri could see the loneliness Viktor had spoken of, but he could also see it flowing out of him, replaced by a feeling that he belonged somewhere. Belonged here, in Hasetsu, with the Katsuki family, and most importantly, in Yuuri’s arms. 

The train car was empty; it was still early in the day, and Hasetsu was nearly the end of the line for this rail. As it neared Fukuoka, more people got on, until it was nearly full. Some stared at Yuuri and Viktor. Yuuri leaned on Viktor’s shoulder, and Viktor played with a little stray strand of hair by Yuuri’s ear. He’d slicked it back for Yuuri early in the morning before getting ready himself, and while he didn’t like that he’d missed a spot, he couldn’t complain when Yuuri’s hair was so soft between his index finger and thumb. 

Yuuri laughed and leaned in closer to Viktor. “Can I play with your hair, too?”

“Sure. But don’t pull, you’ll undo all my hard work.”

Yuuri reached up to the left side of Viktor’s face and wound one of the loose curls around his index finger. The strands were silky, Viktor’s hair only slightly crisped by hairspray but mostly holding the curl on its own.

Yuuri had never really been one for public displays of affection. But then, he’d never been one for long term relationships either, nor had he ever been dating Viktor Nikiforov. 

He still wouldn’t go as far as kissing in public, but… this was perfect. 

They switched trains in Fukuoka, this time only finding standing room in the crowded car. Yuuri looked around, and he saw several people holding bouquets, or plush pillows shaped like onigiri. He recognized the latter as one of the gifts his fans tended to throw at the end of his performances. He hadn’t expected this at a regional competition, of all things. He pulled up his allergy mask a little more securely, now wishing he hadn’t worn his Team Japan track jacket over his costume. 

The people holding gifts seemed to be perfectly happy to leave him alone, though Yuuri could tell they recognized him by the way they startled when they caught his eyes. A young girl, probably not much older than Yuuko’s triplets, sitting at the far end of the car cradled a plush that was almost as big as she was. When she pointed Yuuri out to her parents, they seemed to tell her to calm down, but when she looked back, Yuuri waved and watched her whole face light up. 

Yuuri wasn’t very good with his fans; he knew this, and he knew it was unlikely to ever change. Even knowing that he had fans at all seemed wrong, somehow. Surely they had better skaters to look up to. But he couldn’t deny a kid a moment of joy. 

There were so many people on the Kitakyushu train platform that Yuuri almost got lost in the crowd. He managed to flag down a cab not long after he and Viktor reached the curb, taking them directly to the ice arena for morning practice. 

Yuuri had unpacked his roller bag in the changing room, and Viktor helped him put on his skates, and as he hobbled awkwardly towards the ice he noticed that the stands were fuller than Yuuri expected for just a practice session. Especially for a regional competition with only four skaters. This arena was one used mainly for ice hockey games; like at Ice Castle, it had the various lines and markings embedded into the ice. 

When he came into the light, he heard cheers of his name, which shocked him still. That many people had come out to support him? It didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t Japan’s Ace anymore — in fact, he was only _here_ at all because he’d failed his country the year prior. 

Before he could dwell on it further, he heard squealing from behind him, and turned to see several young women crowding around Viktor, one reaching out to touch his hair. 

“You’re so pretty!” one of them said. The others nodded, each giving their own compliments. Viktor looked pleased by the praise, but also somewhat unnerved. 

Yuuri stepped closer, until he could smell them — two alphas, one beta. “Excuse me. That’s my coach.”

The three women all turned to look at him, and a moment later their noses flared. They could smell him, and they could smell that he matched Viktor, all their cuddling and kissing and scenting one another making their mark. 

_Mine._

Two of the women started to back off, but the last stepped between Yuuri and Viktor. “How selfish of you, taking an omega all for yourself.”

Yuuri watched Viktor’s mouth fall open behind her, speechless. 

“I assure you,” Yuuri said. “He wouldn’t want you anyway. Come on, Coach.”

Viktor brushed past her, not even sparing the alpha a glance as he followed Yuuri with hearts in his eyes.

Yuuri wrapped his arm around Viktor’s waist, laid his wrist possessively over Viktor’s lower back. As if they didn’t already smell soaked through with one another. “That was so embarrassing. But I’ll fight them off, if you want,” Yuuri said. He didn’t know if he could take two alphas; one, maybe. But he would damn well try for Viktor. 

“No.” Viktor leaned into him, returning his half a hug and rubbing his wrist over the front of Yuuri’s jacket. “That was more than enough.” 

“It wasn’t too overbearing?”

Viktor shook his head. “I kind of like when you get like that. Possessive.”

“You’re just used to alphas,” Yuuri said, ducking his head down.

“Not at all. I hate it when alphas act like they own me.” Viktor pouted, his displeasure clear. “But when you do it, I don’t mind so much. I thought I would. I especially like it when you use my contract to do it.”

“I did?” Yuuri’s eyes widened, before he stopped short and covered them. “Is it gone?”

“Oh, yes. It stopped as soon as you turned away from them. I think you’re actually getting better at it, even though you won’t try. You certainly didn’t give them whatever confidence you were feeling. Just the embarrassment, it seems.” 

“I don’t know if it’s right to be manipulating people this way.”

Viktor shrugged. “It’s not inherently right or wrong. What you do with the gift I gave you is up to you.” 

“I guess so…”

Viktor reached out and unzipped Yuuri’s jacket, taking his time to uncover Yuuri’s short program costume. He pushed the fabric aside as sensually as possible, his palms flat against Yuuri’s chest, sliding outward toward his shoulders and then down his arms. Viktor leaned close, his chin just brushing Yuuri’s shoulder, as he pinched the jacket’s collar between his index finger and thumb, drew it down Yuuri’s wrists, and then pulled back, clutching the jacket to his chest. 

Yuuri’s costume was black velvet from neck to ankle, most of the right side open to the air with only unlined mesh to hold it together. Lacing criss-crossed in a diagonal pattern down the front and drew the eye to Yuuri’s chest, to the peek of a dark nipple. Another stripe of mesh swirled around his left leg, traveled up dangerously close to his crotch before tapering off at the apex of his inner thigh. Skin-tight and sensual, it showed off his body, pulled in historical elements of both alpha and omega styles alongside more modern, genderless, streamlined looks. The scrap of velvet fluttering at his hip, lined with iridescent red silk, highlighted his ass, a part of Yuuri’s body that even he couldn’t deny was attractive. Inspired by one of Viktor’s old costumes, it left Yuuri feeling more exposed than he’d normally like, but it worked with his theme. And if Yuuri’s nose was to be trusted, it made Viktor wet — Yuuri still wasn’t sure if he was ready to do anything about that just yet. 

Viktor smoothed his hands down the front of the costume, his palms warm through the mesh. His scent spiked, soaking into the fabric. “Get out there and practice. There’s only a few hours until you skate; make it count.”

It was only a regional qualifier. The other three competitors were teenagers, barely out of juniors. Not one of them could do a quad jump; some struggled even with triples. Yuuri knew he didn’t have to perform at his very best to place well enough to go to nationals, but it would be disrespectful to coast along when these kids were doing their very best. 

Besides, what was the fun in being lackluster? There was none. Certainly in a costume like this one, an underwhelming skate would look completely out of place. 

When Viktor suggested later in the day that Yuuri should lower the difficulty of his jumps and focus on choreography, Yuuri ignored him and went on to pull a perfect quad Salchow in the warm-up. 

Yuuri heard a small shriek that distracted him from his intention to see how Viktor had reacted; he turned towards the source and found perhaps the tiniest fully-presented alpha he’d ever seen standing behind him. 

“That was incredible!” 

The boy looked familiar, with his bleached hair and wide eyes, and his costume looked familiar in a different way, a stomach-turning way. It resembled like one of Yuuri’s old costumes, from the season that included his disastrous appearance at the 2110 Olympic Games. He’d been a last-minute alternate pick after one of Japan’s older representatives had dropped out due to a career-ending injury, and Yuuri, still a junior and barely old enough to qualify, had gone in his place and made a fool of himself. Yuuri shivered to see the ribbons of fabric around the boy’s torso, the pleats around his thighs; he saw himself, leaving the ice covered in melting snow gathered up from each of his falls. 

“You’re amazing, Yuuri-kun!” 

Yuuri blinked. Where did he know this boy from? Oh, of course — last year’s Nationals. Minami Kenjirou, who had beaten Yuuri, coming in tenth place to Yuuri’s eleventh. Yuuri could literally see the stars in his eyes. The flash of blue hair in front of his eyes was new. 

“Ah… thank you, Minami-kun.” Awkward. So, so awkward. Yuuri turned away and started in on his choreography. He vaguely noticed Minami still watching him — and was that lock of blue hair changing color? 

“What interesting technology,” Viktor murmured when Yuuri came to stand next to him, after the warm-up. He had a hand on his chin, thinking deeply. “It seems to change according to his emotions. I wonder what sort of treatment that is. Do you think it damages his hair?”

“What, Minami?” Yuuri looked over at the young alpha, who was bouncing excitedly (and dangerously, being that he was still in his skates) in front of his coach. His bangs were fading from a bright red back to the blue Yuuri had seen before. “I have no idea.” Yuuri leaned against the nearby wall, lifting one leg in a stretch, keeping his muscles warm. He’d be skating first, due to an unlucky pick before the warm-up. 

“It’s brave of him. Putting his emotions on display like that. But I suppose he’s not very good at hiding them anyway.” Viktor looked at Yuuri, putting Minami in the back of his mind as the zamboni came out, cleaning the ice before the competition started for real. He watched Yuuri stretch, openly appreciating Yuuri’s form. 

“Viktor. They’re going to notice.”

“Yes…?” Viktor continued staring. “You told me not to take my eyes off you.”

Yuuri switched legs, a smirk growing on his lips. “I did, didn’t I?” He held the stretch, then moved into a wide lunge, feeling the seductive alpha character of his short program fall into place. 

Yuuri heard his name called, and he moved towards the ice, leaving his blade guards in Viktor’s hands. He felt a sudden nervousness overtake him; he _hated_ skating first. 

“Turn around, Yuuri,” Viktor said as Yuuri met him, across the barrier that separated ground from ice. Yuuri turned, and Viktor’s arms went around him. 

Yuuri gasped at the tight hug, felt himself practically crushed against Viktor’s broad chest. Viktor’s scent flared around him, and Yuuri knew his own was responding, claiming Viktor right back. Camera flashes went off all around, and Yuuri felt self-conscious once again about just how much the costume showed off. 

Viktor’s palms brushed down his chest again, and Yuuri’s skin tingled. His breath puffed past Yuuri’s ear, carrying with it Viktor’s voice, low and demanding. “You’ve been playing the part of an alpha long enough. Today, seduce me as yourself.” 

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. Some part of him had questioned if Viktor really would prefer him as an alpha; if perhaps he was only attracted to Yuuri for the moments he got possessive, almost dominant. If he looked past the curves of Yuuri’s body to focus on the strength, the competitive hunger, that was so far from stereotypical for an omega. But as Viktor’s thumb teased the soft skin of his chest, displayed his clearly fertile body to the cameras, and his inhales drank in Yuuri’s distinctly omega scent; as he _demanded_ in a voice Yuuri had never heard from him that Yuuri cast aside the false veneer of alpha and perform _Eros_ as his omega self, Yuuri could only throw those doubts aside. 

Viktor released Yuuri, and Yuuri turned around again, facing him. His expression hardened in determination. Sure, he was possessive, and maybe a little demanding, and if Viktor wanted to submit as he so clearly enjoyed, Yuuri would meet him at the other end with relish. But he could do all that without being an alpha, couldn’t he? 

“Watch me.” 

Yuuri skated off, greeting the surprisingly large audience before he took up his starting position at center ice. 

He peeked at Viktor, thrilled at the shocked smile, the way Viktor’s hand fisted in the fabric of his expensive suit, wrinkling the pristine lapels. 

The music played, and Yuuri danced. 

He danced the story of _Eros_ with a new perspective. He was no longer an alpha seductress, but a small-town omega, wanting something more than what he was born into. He enticed the eyes of that playboy, the omega who came to town hoping to find a lover, or a seat to wet his cunt. Yuuri stole him away from all the alphas in town, drew him into his nest, and gave him a three days and three nights of passionate love, drunk on heat and sex and omega lust. Then, he tossed the drifter out on the streets; let him leave town, heartbroken but never able to forget how Yuuri rocked his world. 

The music ended and Yuuri’s chest heaved, his breaths coming harsh and labored. He was flushed not only with the exertion of his skate, but also with the warmth low in his belly that he drew forth with the intensity of his imagination. He remembered hazily that he’d stumbled out of a jump, that some of his transitions were sloppier than he’d like. But as he dropped his closing pose and bowed to the judges and the audience, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d _finally_ given a convincing, fulfilling performance. 

Apparently it was fulfilling for the judges as well; a beta was holding a handkerchief to his mouth and nose, glaring at some of those around him who, when Yuuri came close, gave off the stench of a heat hotel. He tried not to notice the red shock of Minami’s hair, verging on maroon, as he stepped off the ice. _Oops_. 

Maybe he came on a little too strong. 

Viktor seemed absolutely ecstatic, even before Yuuri’s scores came in, praising him with half-formed sentences, expressing his pride in Yuuri with more hugging and rubbing his face against Yuuri’s shoulder. 

And Yuuri’s score was high. Really high. Not a world record by any means, but smashing his own personal best to smithereens. 

“I expected a higher score, honestly,” Viktor said. “Now you can be sure; the ability I gave you doesn’t influence the judges’ scoring.”

Yuuri was about to question his logic, because seriously, Yuuri had never scored so high, but -- “I used it again?” Yuuri groaned. 

“Well, yes. Of course you did.” Viktor touched his fingertips under Yuuri’s chin, turning Yuuri to face him. “But you seduced me thoroughly without it.” 

A journalist from a local newspaper flagged them down, and Yuuri reluctantly followed her out to the lobby for an interview, his coach close behind. Even at a regional competition, he couldn’t break free of interview obligations. Nervous as a bee, she asked Yuuri questions from a pre-written list; she also made frequent glances to Viktor and his heart-eyed stare at Yuuri, but while she asked about Yuuri’s decision to switch coaches, she didn’t ask anything about the nature of their relationship, seemingly unprepared to do so. 

Which was great, because Yuuri was wholly unprepared to give an answer. 

Sure, it was no secret to Yuuri. Viktor had been calling him _koibito_ at every possible opportunity, and Yuuri’s family was under no illusions that they were still sleeping in separate beds. Phichit knew and was sworn to social media subtlety when secrecy could not be promised; Yuuko and her family were always lovingly invasive looking for updates on their closeness. The other Hasetsu residents had referred to Viktor as “Yuuri’s handsome foreign boyfriend” since before Viktor had made a single move on Yuuri. Plenty of people were quite aware that they were dating, or courting, or putting on mating displays via figure skating. 

That didn’t mean Yuuri was quite ready for the world to know. Or, more accurately, he wasn’t quite ready to _tell_ the world. It’d be kind of nice if they could just… figure it out on their own. And then never say anything more about it. So Yuuri was very much satisfied by this very non-invasive journalist making her assumptions and then pointedly not asking. Perfect. Absolutely ideal, really. 

Perhaps not everyone was so observant, such as the women who had tried to court Viktor; honestly, who in this day and age tried to move in on such a thoroughly scented omega? Regardless of Viktor’s very blatant and obvious _Hello World I Am Gay_ vibes, to which Yuuri supposed some people might just be immune, the layers of ice-on-wood-on-flowers-on-soil-on-oh-so-very-pleased-and-owned-omega that burst from every pore of Viktor’s skin really ought to be more than enough to show he felt utterly, ecstatically claimed by Yuuri. 

However, more shocking by far than the various strangers daring to get too close to Viktor was Viktor’s seeming lack of affront whenever someone got in Yuuri’s space. Namely, a certain tiny alpha with very expressive hair and an even more expressive voice. 

Viktor not only encouraged Yuuri to talk to Minami (who, perhaps unwittingly, was stinking up the whole room with his hero-worship pheromones) but _demanded_ it of Yuuri before the free skate. _Motivation_ had been the word Viktor used; Yuuri saw it more as playing into the high schooler’s crush. 

Still, when it came down to it, Yuuri could tell that the young alpha was nervous, and Yuuri knew all too well how that felt. 

Even as he shouted encouragement to Minami, Yuuri wondered why it was Viktor had been so adamant about this, enough to desert Yuuri until he followed through. His mind went first to omega instincts; maybe this was some kind of strange, roundabout way of ascertaining whether Yuuri would encourage their very hypothetical and not even remotely yet discussed future children, but that didn’t make _sense_ , Viktor already knew Yuuri was great with kids, much better than he was with adults, honestly. Then he wondered if it had to do if their contract, but Yuuri didn’t understand how being supportive to a skater Viktor probably hadn’t known existed before today would in any way contribute to easing Viktor’s existential loneliness. 

When Viktor returned, removing Yuuri’s jacket, primping his hair, smearing gloss over his lips, looking and smelling so pleased that Yuuri just wanted to curl himself around Viktor and never let go, Yuuri realized the truth: Viktor trusted him. It had nothing to do with nature or contracts. Viktor simply knew he had nothing to be jealous of, knew Yuuri belonged to him as much as he belonged to Yuuri, and knew that despite Minami’s openly displayed interest, the alpha wouldn’t move in on Yuuri. And with that knowledge, Viktor wanted Yuuri to give a kid the encouragement he needed to succeed, to improve himself. 

That was kind of sweet, actually. 

Then Viktor pulled Yuuri into a hug, his wrists rubbing against Yuuri’s neck, scenting him once more before he went on the ice. Well, he trusted Yuuri, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to show off. 

(Minami’s bangs had turned pastel pink, matching his flushed cheeks. Had he never seen two omegas scenting each other…?)

(…)

(…oh. Probably not.)

Viktor had told Yuuri — in fact, just about ordered him — to downgrade his jumps and focus on choreography, just like he’d said in the short program. But once again and right from the outset, Yuuri’s response was essentially _to hell with that_ , and it earned him a bloody nose but also a first place certificate and a ticket to Nationals. 

Possible broken nose and minor concussion aside, it was the most fun Yuuri had at a competition in a long time. In fact, if not for what happened on the train ride back, he might have counted the whole weekend as a perfect success. 

It started when Yuuri noticed Viktor shifting awkwardly on the hyper-rail platform. He seemed restless, unable to stay still even as he draped himself over Yuuri’s back like a coat. Viktor’s own coat was carefully folded and draped over Yuuri’s arm, as it was still a bit too warm to wear it outside of the rink, but Viktor still wore his gloves. Yuuri wondered if he’d forgotten to take them off, but then the train arrived and he forgot all about it in the bustle of people getting on and off. He pushed forward with Viktor and his roller bag in tow, murmuring apologies as he went. They couldn’t find a seat on the packed train, so they stood close together, Yuuri clutching one of the support poles while Viktor’s arms tightened around his waist. 

The hyper-rails that operated throughout much of southeast Asia and North Africa were two or three times faster than the older bullet trains in the States and in Europe. Even though Yuuri had been abroad for several years, he’d grown up during the switch-over from outdated _shinkansen_ to the _haipa_ and was more used to the faster rails. Viktor, however, was used to ground cars, shuttles, sub-orbital jets, and Maglev; Yuuri wasn’t surprised when Viktor groaned during the train’s rapid, frictionless acceleration. 

“Are you alright, Viktor?” Yuuri asked. Viktor had been fine on the ride up, but maybe something had changed. 

“Just feel a little sick.” 

“Close your eyes. Let me know if you need to get off, okay?”

Viktor nodded into Yuuri’s shoulder. 

They made it to Fukuoka just fine, though Viktor groaned quietly into Yuuri’s jacket every time the train sped up or slowed down. However, as soon as they stepped off the train, Viktor pressed a hand over his face and nose and looked around frantically before darting off in the direction of a bathroom. 

Yuuri followed as fast as he could, laden down by Viktor’s heavy coat and his own skate bag. He entered the bathroom to the sound of retching coming from the furthest stall. The stall door was slightly ajar, left unlocked in Viktor’s apparent haste; Yuuri knocked lightly. He winced when he hear another awful dry heave from within. 

“Viktor?” Yuuri whispered. “Do you need me in there?” 

Viktor whined, then mumbled, “Please.” 

Yuuri stepped in. It looked like Viktor hadn’t thrown anything up, but his body still spasmed, and he didn’t move his head away from the toilet. Yuuri knelt on the floor next to Viktor, glad he was wearing his sweatpants and not his costume. Viktor was not so lucky, still in his suit, today’s a sharp heather gray linen that would probably soak up whatever grime was under Viktor’s knees, but at least it would wash out. Viktor had gone simpler for his hair today as well, with most of pulled back in a neat ballet bun instead of the twists and ringlets of the day prior that would get in his way. 

Yuuri rubbed Viktor’s back and held back his bangs while he continued to cough and make pitiful retching noises into the bowl. When Viktor eventually calmed down enough to allow Yuuri to step away, he got a couple bottles of water from the cafe on the platform and helped Viktor drink it slowly. 

“Are you okay to take the second train?” Yuuri asked. “We can get a shuttle instead.”

Viktor shook his head. “It’s not the train,” Viktor said. “I was feeling off before we even got to the platform in Kitakyushu.” 

“You might be getting sick. People are always bringing their illness to competitions…” 

He shook his head again. “I can’t get sick.”

Right, immortal. Yuuri sighed; he pulled his allergy mask away from his mouth, and started to adjust the medical tape that covered his nose and itched like hell. “Then I don’t know what it could—” 

Yuuri faceplanted into Viktor’s shoulder, not really sure when he decided to lean forward. His nose pressed awkwardly against Viktor’s neck, and he gasped as it throbbed painfully. “Ow. _Oh_.” Yuuri straightened his back, though it took a godlike amount of self-control to do so. “Yeah, we need a shuttle.”

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri gripped Viktor’s forearm and started pulling him to his feet. “Come on. We need to get you home as soon as possible.”

“Yuuri, what’s going on?”

“You’re going into heat,” Yuuri said, and ignored Viktor’s spluttering for the time being while he looked for a taxi stand. 

Yuuri decidedly ignored that the poor beta staffing the taxi stand went from a general state of unaffectedness to sporting a very prominent and embarrassing boner by the time their shuttle came. Betas weren’t sensitive enough to scents to be turned on by an omega who wasn’t in a full-blown heat, so Yuuri was certain it was his own reaction being projected by his contract ability; he might have felt bad was he not so filled with determination to protect his not-quite-mate. 

Mate. Hah. Well. _Awkward_. Certainly, when Viktor started feeling the pre-heat haze roll in, and clutched tight to Yuuri as the shuttle took flight, Yuuri wondered if Viktor would try to proposition him. And then, ten minutes from Hasetsu, Viktor’s scent spiked, and he moaned Yuuri’s name in a way that might have made a lesser man give in, might have taken a football team of betas to wrestle him away before he could take advantage of an omega in heat. Yuuri, though, was very used to this, and while he wasn’t precisely clear-headed, he still knew he _couldn’t_. 

Viktor wasn’t in his right mind, couldn’t really ask Yuuri to join him. Even if Yuuri was pretty sure he meant it. No, Yuuri would have to reject him, at least for now, and he was outrageously annoyed by that fact because his own heat was less than two weeks away. It was too close; he wouldn’t be able to ask Viktor to join him either, because Viktor’s post-heat would overlap with Yuuri’s pre-heat and neither of them would be in the right mind to consent to it or even talk about it. 

Most of all, Yuuri knew he wasn’t ready to take that step, no matter how much he wanted to. 

Yuuri’s room was the only one in the house that was outfitted to hold an omega in heat. Perfectly scentproof, as well as soundproof on three sides once the sliding door was covered, and with an adjoining bathroom and mini-fridge, it would be perfect for Viktor to spend his heat in, except that it wasn’t Viktor’s space and didn’t smell like him, and so Yuuri dragged all of Viktor’s bedding in while Viktor rolled around on Yuuri’s bed, scenting the sheets, wrinkling his suit before he pulled it off. 

At one point, Viktor reached out and tugged on the collar of Yuuri’s Team Japan jacket, pulling until Yuuri unzipped it and let him peel it off. Viktor cradled it in his arms, pressing his face into it. He closed his eyes and curled up, naked and sweating. 

“You’re sure you can’t stay?” Viktor asked. His tone pleaded with Yuuri, even though part of him knew that Yuuri’s reasoning was sound.

Yuuri shook his head. He pushed back the loose hair that covered the left side of Viktor’s face and allowed Viktor to scent his wrist; after all, he wouldn’t be able to for at least three days. 

“I’ll be right next door,” Yuuri promised. “I’ll still be yours. I’ll be in your room, and I’ll be able to hear you.” It would be torture, listening to Viktor’s inevitable moaning without being able to help him. And he’d even be using Yuuri’s toys, since there wasn’t time to get Viktor his own. Luckily Yuuri was very particular about keeping his toys clean, so he didn’t have to waste time on that. Instead he could spend time here with Viktor, petting his hair until his true heat started. 

“I’m scared,” Viktor whispered, quiet as a mouse. He didn’t seem to want to admit it.

Yuuri remembered then that Viktor hadn’t had a heat in at least a hundred years. While a part of Yuuri felt proud to think that it may have been him that triggered Viktor’s heats to return, he mostly worried. Viktor probably had no idea what to expect. He would know about what a heat meant, what it did to an omega’s body, but he wouldn’t have the experience of knowing how it would _feel_. And Yuuri knew that if an omega stopped having heats for a while, they would come back much stronger. He could only imagine what kind of toll that would take on Viktor’s body after a hundred years. 

“If anything goes wrong, I’ll be right next door.” 

“I wish you could stay in here with me.”

Yuuri shook his head. He wished so as well, but he knew if he stayed he would get caught up in Viktor’s heat and do things they would both regret. 

There was a knock against the frame of the door. Yuuri got up and slid it open; his mother stood on the other side, carrying a tray with two bowls of katsudon. 

“Congratulations on your gold,” she said, passing over the tray. “Make sure Vicchan eats before it starts.”

Yuuri smiled at Hiroko and thanked her; she patted his hand and left. 

The Katsuki family wasn’t much for physical affection. Rarely did they hug or get too close to one another. But they each had their own ways of expressing their love and appreciation. For Mari, love was playful insults and sarcasm; for Toshiya, it was sharing his alcohol or watching television together; Hiroko expressed her love through food. She’d brought the katsudon without Yuuri having to ask, knowing he’d earned it with his win and that Viktor would need the calories going into his heat. 

Yuuri sometimes wished his own love language was more straightforward. He usually relied on more abstract, roundabout displays of self-sacrifice that often missed the mark. Phichit had made fun of him once, saying that if Yuuri didn’t inconvenience himself, he didn’t really consider someone important to him. It wasn’t entirely true, but Yuuri understood why he thought so. 

Even now, he inconvenienced himself, straining his self-control to its limits so that he could share katsudon with Viktor like he’d said he wanted to. They sat close together, Viktor leaning against Yuuri with Yuuri’s jacket draped over his shoulders, scooping up rice on a fork because chopsticks were a little too difficult for his shaking hands. 

“I’ll be right next door,” Yuuri reminded him when their bowls were empty. He picked up the tray, and he left one last lingering kiss on Viktor’s forehead. 

Viktor followed Yuuri to the door; his eyes were bloodshot, his hair limp and soaked with sweat, his skin shiny and flushed. He was so beautiful, and it hurt Yuuri physically to step through the door. 

Viktor’s hand shot out the door, fisting in Yuuri’s shirt, pulling him back and up to his toes for a kiss, a real one, wet and deep with Viktor’s tongue poking into Yuuri’s mouth. It lasted only a second before Viktor pushed him back and slammed the sliding door shut. 

Yuuri stood there for a moment, until he heard the second, thicker door slide into place, dampening all sound and smell from the hallway entry. 

And that was it. Yuuri wouldn’t see Viktor for three days, when he hadn’t spent more than a handful of hours away from Viktor’s side for months. It already ate at him. Even if he wouldn’t be sharing Viktor’s heat, Yuuri was fucked. 

Yuuri brought the tray and empty bowls to the kitchen, and decided to clean them himself, since no-one else was in there. It would be a nice distraction, while Viktor settled into his heat. 

He ended up wiping down all the counters and dusting above the refrigerator, just to burn off some of the residual energy. By the time he returned to the hallway where his and Viktor’s bedrooms were, Viktor was already well acquainted with his heat, as Yuuri could tell by the sounds coming through the wall to where he’d curled up on Viktor’s spare futon. 

The sun was setting, casting strange shadows through the open window. Yuuri watched the shadows inch their way across the floor and furniture, tried to focus on that instead of the badly-muffled moans coming from next door, the clear signs of mixed agony and pleasure that accompanied any heat spent alone. 

Yuuri couldn’t imagine how Viktor was feeling right now, the fear and shock. From the smell of him, Yuuri could tell this wasn’t going to be anything like a presentation heat. Those tended to last no more than a day, and usually didn’t involve insatiable lust alongside the hot flashes and brain fog. It was the only time in an omega’s life that a heat should take them off-guard, as it could come any time between an omega’s scent presentation in childhood, and the end of their pubescent period. 

Yuuri should have noticed the signs, but Viktor was _always_ clingy, _always_ warm, and his scent had strengthened ever since Yuuri had started scenting him. That’d been months ago. Yuuri hadn’t known, and neither had Viktor, and now what was supposed to be a relaxing trip home and a celebratory dinner had turned into a sudden separation and Viktor suffering his first heat in a century, alone and unprepared. 

It was probably rude for Yuuri to think of himself as Viktor’s mate, since they hadn’t discussed it at all. They were boyfriends, sort of, and boyfriends usually shared one another’s heat, which would make them mates, but Yuuri couldn’t just _assume_ , the same way he couldn’t just hop into Viktor’s cunt at the turn of his hormones. Still, it felt wrong somehow, to leave Viktor to fend for himself during such a difficult time when he and Yuuri had been so close up to now. 

They’d need to talk about this, when both of them were clear-headed. Even if Yuuri wasn’t ready to take that step yet, he hoped that three months from now, he might be. 

And maybe if he was lucky their heats would sync up. It already seemed like his had shifted, knocked out of its usual regularity, and like he’d kickstarted Viktor’s dormant omega back into action. Maybe, even if Yuuri couldn’t tell Viktor’s heat was coming, some part of his biology had picked it up and tried to match. He hadn’t quite made it, but it was a good effort. 

Maybe it was for the best. If he’d gone into heat at the same time as Viktor, there might be no chance of separating them. Yuuri shivered at the thought; no matter how much they might enjoy it, it would be awkward at best after it was over, and at worst, it’d break them to have jumped headfirst into sex that they weren’t ready for. 

A moan, broken, louder than before burst out of Viktor, came clearly through the wall. Yuuri wondered, not for the first time, why this room — the nicest guest room the inn had to offer — was the only one not soundproof. Yuuri supposed it was because it’d been half of a banquet room until Yuuri left for the States, and perhaps the renovation had involved tearing out the soundproofing from the existing walls. 

He found himself crossing the room, dragging the futon with him, to set up against the thin wall that separated him from Viktor. The bed in which Viktor thrashed was along the far wall, so they weren’t quite mirrored, but this way Yuuri could almost pretend that if he reached up and pressed his palm against the wall, Viktor would match him on the other side. 

Another moan, followed by Yuuri’s name, and Yuuri could no longer deny how turned on he was. He jammed his hand into his pants and gave into it. He was only human, after all, and he had a long three days ahead of him listening to this. 

**Author's Note:**

> please subscribe to the series for updates!


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